


Great Balls Afire

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Relationships - Freeform, F/M, Humor, M/M, Twine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story containing the flu, balls, thievery, pastries, football, alien artefacts, elbows to the ribs and puppy eyes. </p><p>And a chainsaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Balls Afire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_fjords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/gifts).



> Written for TWSecretSanta, for blue_fjords. :)
> 
> Beta thanks go to copperbadge.

Jack skipped down the last few steps to the main level of the Hub with his hands in his pockets, keys jingling. He sauntered over to Gwen's desk and lifted a sheaf of papers, let it drop, then picked up a pen and squinted at the lettering on the side. "NatWest Mortgage Services."

"It's a bank pen. I did steal it," Gwen said.

"Young lady, I should march you over there with it and make you apologise and promise not to take another."

"That would be a valuable lesson for me, Dad, except I saw you steal an RAF helicopter two weeks ago," Gwen pointed out.

"It's the principle!" Jack protested, waving the purloined pen wildly.

"It's a promotional item," Gwen said, gently taking the pen from his hand. "You're supposed to accidentally take them and then lose them to advertise for the bank."

"Whatever you say, pen-stealer." Jack picked up a stress ball and tossed it from hand-to-hand, kneading the foam. "Hey! That helicopter had writing on it. Maybe it was a promotional item."

Gwen snorted and stared at her stack of printouts, then pushed them away. There had been several reports of a large spherical object falling to the ground, but when Torchwood had gone out to investigate, they'd found nothing but a massive singed hole in a field. A somewhat nearsighted witness had said that a dirty green lorry cab with a flatbed had pulled up and by the time they'd gone out to have a closer look, the object and the lorry were both gone. Worse yet, he'd only remembered part of the number plate. It had an X in. Or perhaps an M. And a couple of ones. Maybe. She was supposed to be searching the database to match up the fragment of plate number to known green-cabbed lorries, but her eyes had begun to swim after staring at the screen all morning, so she'd printed out the list. It was old-fashioned, but she liked things on paper. And things stuck on walls with blu-tack. Her parents had never let her stick things on the walls of her room. She shook her head and focused on her boss again.

"Huh. doesn't look like CCTV picked up any dirty green-cabbed lorries leaving the city. Must still be here somewhere." A hint of a grin lifted the corner of her mouth. "My my, you are at loose ends without him, aren't you?

Jack regarded her steadily. "Huh. Not particularly."

"You're telling me you don't miss Ianto?" Gwen teased.

"He's just sick. He'll be back on his feet in a couple of days," Jack said, pulling over a tall stool. He planted himself on top, folded his arms and examined the ceiling, head tossed back. "I'm not at loose ends."

"You've haunted the breakroom. You've wandered the Hub aimlessly like a lost cocker spaniel. You've made _a necklace from paperclips._ You're bored without your boyfriend here. Just admit-"

"I spoke with him this morning," Jack interrupted. "He sounds terrible. His _dose_ is _stuffed ub_."

Gwen nodded. "You know, it's not H1N1. Just standard flu. He'll be fine." She took a sip of coffee, nibbled at the corner of a somewhat stale square of flapjack, and made a face. "I brought him something to heat up for lunch. I made rigatoni last night and doubled the recipe."

Jack picked up her petrol station pastry and examined it, then put it back down with a grimace of his own. "Have you heard him cough? It sounds like he's horking up Tribbles."

"Tribbles aren't real."

Jack tilted his head. "Gwen, just because you haven't seen a Tribble come through the Rift yet doesn't mean they're not real."

Gwen gave him a dubious look and reached for her mug again.

"Speaking of furry things, I'm gonna borrow Rhys," Jack said, tone turning decisive. "Just for a few hours. Rest of the day, tops."

Gwen quirked a brow. "What for?" she asked, suspicious.

"I need his help with something," Jack said slowly.

"I'm not _dim,_ Jack. Just curious."

"Tribbles." Jack sighed, picked up the stress ball, squeezed it and put it down again. "It's our mysterious object. If the lorry hasn't left, we need to search warehouses in the area, and I was thinking Harwood's would have some local knowledge. Maps. Or keys or-"

"Oh no you don't. You can get maps on the database. You're not getting him involved in anything dangerous. Or illegal."

"Outside the government, Gwen. Beyond the pol-"

"No."

"You brought a man with a compromised immune system something that you cooked, and you're lecturing me about danger?"

Gwen glared at him.

"Sorry. Didn't mean it. I'm sure it was delicious," Jack said quickly, backtracking. "Come on. I don't have a mother-in-law. You get the cooking jokes. Since you hardly ever do it, and-"

"Making it worse, Jack. Digging a hole, you are."

Jack bowed his head, then looked up at her beseechingly. "Back to Rhys. Please?"

Fuck _me,_ Gwen thought. _Puppy eyes_. "Oh, all right. If he wants to." Of course she knew Rhys would jump at a chance to help, after he complained a bit about being asked to help. It was traditional. Gwen pressed a button and surrendered her mobile to Jack's outstretched hand. It was probably just a bog-standard meteorite. Someone likely planned to break it apart in search of some sort of valuable ore or something, or put it on eBay. There was a recession on, after all. Somebody had stolen the bicycle racks outside the Tourist Centre -- Quay management circulated a note about it. People made off with scrap steel or aluminium to make a few pounds. Gwen had been parking her bike in the Hub ever since.

"Hi beautiful, yourself," Jack answered Rhys with a low purr. Gwen elbowed him. "Ow. Yes, she's right here and she's perfectly okay." He paused, listening. "Hey. Want to help us out with something? You could earn honours from the Queen on New Year's. Ow! Gwen's _hitting_ me." Jack complained, and stuck his tongue out at her.

"Oh, that's mature," she said, under her breath. But she was smiling.

"Rhys, seriously, we need to find a lorry and access some warehouses. Can you help me out?" He paused, listening. "Great. Thank god you have a backup. Meet you at Harwood's." Jack poked a button and handed the phone back to Gwen.

"Let me guess. Perfunctory grumble? 'Bloody Torchwood'?"

"Little bit," Jack nodded. "But of course he's helping out. And I'm just old, remember? I don't claim to be mature," he called out as he bounded away and reached for his coat.

"Don't take the SUV! I rode my bicycle in!" Gwen yelled as Jack headed out. "And Rhys is not... furry!"

"Well, you would know!"

Gwen stuck her tongue out at Jack's retreating back, then examined the remainder of the flapjack with its beady, dry raisins, and chucked it in the bin.

If Jack could call Rhys in for assistance, surely he wouldn't mind if she met with Andy to see if there was any word-of-mouth about the reports. Besides, she wanted fresh air and a treat that didn't taste like an old boot, and there was a banging pastry shop near the Constabulary. She donned her leather jacket and made for the Hub door, taking the Rift monitor and scanner with her.

**

"This is a bribe, right?" Andy asked, hefting the bag of warm pastries in one hand.

"Mayyybe," Gwen admitted. "You know Eleanor in dispatch. Can you get her to tell you what the chatter is around that falling object report I asked you about?"

Andy winced. "Eleanor hates me. We had a 'traumatically unromantic' first date, according to her."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing! I didn't know she didn't care for sport."

"You took her to see a match?" Gwen asked.

"Well, it was... a Saturday. So it was my match." As Gwen shook her head, Andy rushed forward. "But I took her out somewhere nice afterward."

"You made her sit in the freezing cold and watch you lot play amateur football for two hours for your first date?"

"No! Well. Three hours. Overtime. But we won the match! I brought her to a really nice pub afterw- what?" He looked at Gwen, who was nodding knowingly.

"Poor thing was probably starving. And I bet you let her wait around your flat while you got cleaned up."

"Erm..."

"You didn't shower after the match, did you?"

"It was raining, so I thought..." Andy sputtered as Gwen pulled the pastry bag away. "I didn't smell!"

"Please. Just talk to her? See if you can get something else we can use?" Gwen gave him a mournful look.

Fuck. Puppy eyes. Andy threw up his hands. "Okay."

 

**

"You are brilliant!" Gwen whooped to Rhys, as she and Andy stepped out of the SUV she'd parked on the cracked tarmac.

"Well," Rhys demurred, "the info Andy got said the thing was massive, which your witness hadn't told you, and you didn't know for sure, Jack said, since the impact doesn't always match the size of a meteorite, and not too many warehouses have big-enough doors to get something like this in, so I figured..."

"You figured right," Jack said, sliding the bay door of the derelict hangar open to let them in. "Great deductive reasoning, Rhys. Might have taken days to track down storage facilities without you."

Rhys beamed and put his hands in his pockets as Gwen slid her arm into his and they followed Jack into the cool building.

"Wait," Andy called, gesturing at the SUV. "The. But, the..." Gwen had locked the bag of untouched pastries in the vehicle. He sighed and followed the team in.

The object centred on the concrete floor inside was large. It was either black, or just singed black from its entry into the Earth's atmosphere. It was about 7 meters tall, Jack estimated. Andy gave a low whistle, awestruck. "Holy big... uh, ball, Batman." He walked up and patted the sphere. "Eleanor was right. But how did they get that on the flatbed?"

"Forklift, I guess. Or they used a ramp and rolled it up. Good call on the size, Andy. But don't touch it," Jack warned. "It could be a mutant Tribble."

Andy jumped backward as Rhys laughed. "Stuff it, Williams," he grumbled.

"Boys," Jack warned. "Gwen? Readings?"

" _Boys?_ " Andy said, indignantly. "Au contraire, mon frere. All man, me."

Gwen pulled the Rift energy scanner from her jacket pocket and swept it up and down, circling the huge orb from a safe distance. "Residual Rift energy," she concluded. "But it's not radioactive or anything."

Andy surreptitiously backed further away from the object as Jack stepped towards it. He knocked on the surface. "Anyone home?" he called.

"No life signs, either," Gwen said. "It's inert."

"No, it's a ball," Andy said.

"She said it's inert. Not a Nerf," Rhys corrected.

"Oh, speaking of balls," Andy began, ignoring Jack's glance. "Since it's Saturday tomorrow, and Ianto's still under the weather... do you... want to come out and play a bit of footie? Big match."

"Ooh. Inviting me to play for your sacred side, matey?" Rhys said. "Must be desperate."

"It's just that... we don't want to forfeit again."

"Thought so."

"Boys," Jack cut in. Gwen rolled her eyes. "GENTLEMEN," Jack intoned.

"So," Rhys said, "what the hell is it?"

Jack walked around the object and held his hand out to Andy without looking. "Nightstick?" He took the telescoping stick from Andy's hand and snicked it open, then poked at the black ball. A burned-looking bit flaked off, but another layer of black char showed underneath. Jack worried at the scar with the end of the stick.

"Oi," Andy grumbled. "Don't get... space shit on my gear."

Gwen patted his shoulder. "At least it's not gooey."

Jack whacked the ball again. "It's not a meteorite, I don't think; it doesn't sound like a rock and it's not hard enough. I want to see what's inside. Wish we had a-"

"I've got a chainsaw," Rhys volunteered. Everyone looked at him. "What? They come in handy. As you might well remember, Jack."

"We used it at my wedding," Gwen explained when Andy looked perplexed. "Uhm. Long story."

"I should ask, but... I'm not sure I want to find out," Andy muttered.

"It's in the back of my van," Rhys said, heading for the bay doors as Gwen shook her head. "Self-defence, love!"

*

"Wow," Jack marvelled. "Goggles, even."

"I come prepared," Rhys said, pulling the starter. He settled into a crouch and breached the surface of the sphere.

Gwen looked nervous, and Jack smiled at her. "It's all right. Not radioactive and not alive, remember?" She nodded and covered her ears and she and Andy moved back as black flecks flew through the hangar like snowflakes. Rhys carved the object with the vibrating blade, then changed his angle, and a wedge of material flopped onto the floor. Jack waved him backward and gestured for Rhys to cut the chainsaw off, then kicked at the chunk with his boot. He finally reached into the crevasse in the ball and touched the surface.

Jack started to laugh. And when the others had a close look, they did, too.

 

 

**

"...and guess what it was? A ball of twine!" Jack crowed. He set the bag of prawn crackers next to the four styrofoam containers of egg drop soup on Ianto's coffee table. He'd probably brought too much soup. Early lunch. Or... soup could be breakfast. He was pretty sure.

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked at him blearily. "Space twine?"

"Nope," Jack said, laughing. "A giant twine ball -- it was a former world record-holder -- went missing a few weeks ago in America. Cawker City, Kansas. Gwen was concerned that another Rift had opened up in the States, but there are no other reports of any debris in the area or anything else missing. However, there were sightings of lights and something in the US Air Force database about a UFO, but you know how seriously the military takes reports from rural areas... usually it's someone who's had a few beers, read Communion, and dreamed about being probed in the heinie by greys. It's likely that aliens just thought they'd found an Earth treasure and... beamed it up."

Ianto leaned back on the haphazard pile of sofa cushions and sighed, pulled at the afghan wrapped around his chest, and turned down the volume on the television. Ready, Steady, Cook was on. Again.

"It was in a special display gazebo," Jack continued. "With air vents. So visitors can smell the twine, if they, uh, want to. It takes decades of effort to build up a giant orb of twine, Ianto. These creators -- and whole towns -- are very proud of their balls."

Ianto laughed, but it spun into a wheezy cough. Jack passed him a box of tissues and Ianto took one gratefully and blew his nose.

"...and maybe they were disappointed, because it looked like some sort of valuable, venerable artefact, being in a display case on a dais and all, but... it was a ball of twine. So they... tossed it back and it hit the atmosphere and was somehow diverted through the Rift. The energy and atmospheric burn charred the thing and reduced its size by half. And blammo!" Jack made a fist and punched his open hand. "It's a lucky thing it didn't hit a primary school at recess."

"So aliens stole a giant ball of twine from Kansas, tossed it back at the earth and it caught fire and came through the Rift," Ianto stated slowly. "And it landed here in Cardiff. And someone stole it and hid it in a warehouse. And you and Rhys and Gwen and Andy found it. And Rhys sliced it open with a chainsaw."

"...yes?"

"I- I'm staying home today, Jack."

"Good! I mean, I thought you were feeling better, but yeah, of course. Stay home another day. It's not like you take all of your days-"

"Do we actually have official sick days? What, in the HR manual?"  Ianto sniffled. "Has the Rift been quiet?"

"Other than high-velocity flaming twine balls? Yes."

"Then I'm most definitely staying home," Ianto decided.

"Oh, wait. It's Saturday. And it's Gwen's turn to monitor the Rift this weekend." Jack's mobile chirruped and he put it on speakerphone. "Annnnd, speaking of. Hello, Gwen."

"Jack? Ibe sick," Gwen said over the line, and punctuated the statement with a sniffle. "Achy. Fever, too. I can't take weekend duty."

"You sound pathetic. Is Rhys looking after you?"

"He was already gone when I woke up all dizzy. He traded off with his second-in-command to get yesterday afternoon off, remember? And this afternoon he's playing on Andy's side. The... football," she said, weakly.

"All right, Gwen. Don't worry. Hey, you hungry?" Jack eyed the extra soup and Ianto nodded. There was far too much. "Uh huh. Bye." He tucked the mobile into his trouser pocket.

Ianto threw off the afghan and stood. "I'm getting up. I'll go with you."

"Ianto." Jack put a hand on his shoulder and urged Ianto to sit, then joined him on the sofa. "You don't have to. I'll be right back."

"No. Gwen has satellite. I'm going to camp out on her sofa."

"Satellite?"

"X-Files marathon Saturday. The film and the sixth series."

"You like that show?"

"No, Jack. I _love_ that show."

"But it's so ridicu-" Jack said, and stopped when Ianto regarded him balefully, like a... sad puppy. "Let's go, then. I'll hang around with you." Jack patted his coat pocket. "I've got a portable Rift monitor."

"I hope you don't get it -- this flu bug."

"I won't get sick. I'm a carrier!" Jack said, brightly.

"That's... reassuring," Ianto said, "Sort of. I'm having a shower first. I can't tell, but I suspect I smell."

"All right, maybe a bit. I don't mind, though," Jack hurried to add. "But if you want to... you need your back scrubbed?" He lifted an eyebrow, captured Ianto's chin and leaned in for a quick kiss. And then a slow one. And then yet another, smooth and languid. "If you insist," Ianto sighed, pulling away with feigned impatience. He turned sideways to hide his grin as Jack shed his coat.

Maybe he was feeling a little bit better...

**

"--and if you want, you can join up. Match on Saturday, practise on Thursday. Baz is pretty fucking unreliable, really--" Rhys shushed Andy quickly when they entered the Cooper-Williams flat and found Ianto and Jack snuggled together in a heap on the sofa, feet on the table, heads sticking out of a duvet. Gwen lay sprawled on the easy chair alongside them, her own head wrapped in a blanket like a babushka, with one striped-socked foot slung over Ianto's knee. Styrofoam bowls and food sacks littered the coffee table. A lone prawn chip rested on Jack's shoulder. As they surveyed the scene, Ianto let out a long snore.

Rhys looked at Andy. "Pub?" he asked.

"Plan." Andy agreed. Rhys went to the bedroom to change out of his slightly muddy shirt and Andy picked up a half-eaten pastry nestled on top of a crumpled bag, glanced at the sleeping team and had a nibble. Oh, yeah. Raspberry and cream cheese. He wasn't proud. And he was starving. He polished off the pastry, then picked up one of the soup containers and sniffed it. Room temperature, but it smelled great, and he was unperturbed by cold food. Copper thing. Plus, he was famished.

He glanced at the telly. X-Files marathon. Sweet. He gingerly moved Gwen's slack outstretched hand aside and perched on the arm of her chair to watch 1939 Scully run around a ship. He loved this one.

Returning, Rhys took the container out of Andy's hand. "You don't want to do that, mate! They've got the ick, remember?" he finished. "It's pretty contagious, too."

Andy froze,then groaned as he pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Great. I bet they sneezed on the pastries, too."

"'All over 'em," Ianto mumbled from the sofa. "'But 'f you get sick, I'll be recovered to play next Saturday. Wouldn't wanna forfeit."

"Nope," Rhys said. "Might have to get Jack out on the field too, if I get snot-bombed as well." He picked up the remote and aimed it at the television.

"Don't change the channel, sweetheart," Gwen said, half-awake. "Truth... 's out there."

Rhys bent to press his lips to her forehead, then followed it with his hand. "You're still hot, love."

"And you're ripe," Gwen said, wrinkling her nose. "You played footie and you're not taking a shower?"

"Why, am I getting lucky later?" Rhys winked at Ianto. Gwen was silent. "Thought not, sicky."

"What'd I tell you, Andy?" Gwen murmured. "Stinky boys get no lovin'."

Jack snickered, and Ianto elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!"

As Andy and Rhys shut the door behind them, Jack groaned. Had he heard that right? He hated playing football, but he supposed he did owe Andy a favour. Ianto stuck his tongue out at him.

"That's mature. I wonder where you picked that up," Gwen rasped, stretching.

"Jack. He's a carrier," Ianto moaned.

"LAWWWWL," Jack replied.

Gwen shook her head. "Did you just... say-" but she was interrupted when Jack sneezed. Violently. Four times in succession.

"Oh, _balls_ ," he said miserably, as he sank back to the sofa.


End file.
